


I Can See You (Battling Your Demons)

by writing_as_tracey



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Gangs, Gen, High School, Present Tense, Writing Exercise, post-Season 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-11-19 19:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11319753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_as_tracey/pseuds/writing_as_tracey
Summary: They are in the middle of their Tuesday night ‘dinner-and-a-movie’ date when he gets the phone call.OR,Betty's first step in becoming a Serpenta story about Betty Cooper becoming a Serpent.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> **Edit** : No longer just a little one-shot, working in present tense for a change. Nothing so humorous as my other work, so this is more an exercise in writing than anything.
> 
> As usual, you can find me on Tumblr: [writing_as_tracey](http://writing-as-tracey.tumblr.com/)

I Can See You (Battling Your Demons)

*

I can see you  
Battling your demons at night  
You’re so restless  
Wish I was a reader of mind 

Let’s sit behind this fortress  
I built it just to keep the whole world out  
It wasn’t made for you  
Look who’s left a prisoner (prisoner, prisoner, prisoner)

\- Fitz and the Tantrums, _Burn it Down_

* * *

They are in the middle of their Tuesday night ‘dinner-and-a-movie’ date when he gets the phone call. Betty does her best to swallow her disappointment, glancing down at Jughead’s phone with the cracked screen as it lights up and the number flashes across the display.

He sends her an apologetic look, sliding his arm from behind her against the booth at Pop’s to reach for the phone.

“Yeah?” he answers.

Betty stares hard at her half-eaten burger and fries – and only absently notes that most of her fries were eaten because Jughead had reached across and begun on hers after finishing his.

“Fine, okay,” he sighs. There is some more mumbles on the other end, causing Betty to look up in concern. His face flashes with annoyance, and his voice hardens. “ _Yes._ I’m coming.”

He angrily ends the call, breathing heavily and closing his eyes for a moment or two, collecting himself.

Jughead turns to Betty, apology all over his face. “Betts, I’m sorry—”

Betty smiles, although she’s sure it is more of a grimace. “It’s okay. Duty calls?”

He runs a hand through his dark hair, and Betty is struck by how much she misses his beanie, the days when the beanie represented innocence and the Serpent leather jacket on his shoulders didn’t mean a burden of protection.

He looks morosely at his finished meal, and even worse when he realizes that she wasn’t even half-done hers. “Jesus, Betts, I can wait a little longer, honest—”

She shakes her head. “No, you’d best go.” She bites her lip and looks at him from under her lashes. “But could you drop me off at home, first?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” he sighs, and together, they both ensure there’s enough money to cover their food and milkshakes, and they leave Pop’s with heavy hearts.

Tuesdays are _their_ days – the one day that both their friends (really, their north side friends) know not to interrupt them on, as it’s the only day that Jughead can be away from his foster family for a length of time, and it’s the only day that both Hal and Alice work late at the Register. Even the Serpents had initially respected the sanctity of Tuesday.

Jughead opens the passenger side of his father’s truck, waiting until Betty is settled in properly to close the door and move around to the driver’s side. Once he is in, the engine started, he moves the shift into drive and the car rumbles and sputters and he begins his all-too-short drive to the Cooper household.

They’re not even two minutes from Pop’s when his phone lights up again.

“For Christ’s sake,” he swears, fumbling to answer it with one hand, and the other on the steering wheel. He barks into the phone, “What?”

The voice on the other end squabbles in a tinny tone, but Betty can make out a few words: _no time, get here now,_ and _I don’t care_.

Jughead grumbles something indistinct, slamming the cell phone into the cup holder between them. He breathes deeply and turns to Betty at a stop sign. “I’m really sorry, Betts. I need to go now... do you mind staying in the car? It won’t take long.”

Betty shakes her head. _Maybe this is for the best; Jug can get done his business and we can still make the film later._

Jughead turns left instead of right at the stop sign, and the ride is silent. It’s winter, and darkness falls across Riverdale sooner than she anticipates; the roads are slick with cold winter rain that freezes into black ice overnight. The air is chilly, bitingly cold the longer they are out and not snuggled up somewhere warm.

In the dark, the streetlights begin to blend and droplets of rain blur them further until the streets are unrecognizable for Betty. It takes her a moment to realize that Jughead is pulling up to an abandoned warehouse far from Riverdale, at the edge of Centerville.

The warehouse’s windows are either border up or busted out, and the interior (from what she can see) is exposed brick and beams. A large shipping dock entrance for eighteen-wheelers is open, and Jughead eases FP’s car through. There are a few other cars in a semi-circle, and Jughead eases the car into an empty space.

He turns the engine off, but leaves the lights on, like the other cars beside them. Across, a few other cars mimic the Serpents and their vehicles, shining a bright glare of headlight straight into Betty’s face. The lights illuminate the business going on in the center of the circle.

The Serpents – in their well-known leather jackets and jeans, are huddled across from a man in a business suit and two associates of his who are clearly his muscle.

Betty squints against the glare, and to her shock, realizes she knows the suit. She turns immediately to Jughead, who is shoving his phone in his pocket and getting ready to exit the truck.

“Stay here,” he instructs, “And _don’t_ leave the truck.”

He reaches forward quickly and kisses her – hard – on the mouth, sending her reeling and then he is gone, the snap of the door shutting echoing in the cavernous warehouse.

Curiosity overtakes her, and Betty quickly thanks FP for having such an old truck that there are only cranks for the window; she begins rolling it down until she can hear the conversation in front of her.

“—the deal was no more than fifty,” says a Serpent she knows as Scott, the man who gave Jughead his jacket months ago.

“And that was last week,” says the suit. “This week, demand’s sent the price up to seventy, minimum.”

There are murmurs and restless shifts as the Serpents sense they are being overcharged for whatever goods they’re trying to buy. Betty worries her lip and wonders if she should say something—but she also doesn’t want to get her boyfriend in trouble.

“Look, do you want the stuff or not?” the suit is asking, his very tone bored and calculated to imply his time is limited. “You said you need it. So either pay up or shut up.”

“I need to inspect it,” argues another Serpent, one Betty has seen hanging out with Jughead every so often; he’s tall and scruffy, with wildly curly hair and works full time in his own mechanical garage. “I won’t pay money for something I can’t check out or test.”

“Too bad,” argues back the suit. “Now, are you going to pay or not? I’m a busy man.”

Scott mumbles something, and another Serpent reaches into his jacket and hands him an envelope, which is presumably filled with the demanded fifty thousand, but not the extra twenty the man is now demanding.

The businessman takes the envelope and begins to count through the bills, quickly. He scowls.

“What about the rest?” the man asks. “Your twenty short.”

“We can get it to you by tomorrow,” promises Scott, his voice rough and gravelly, unhappy with the transaction.

Betty shifts restlessly in the seat, fishing out her phone, unlocking it and opening her messaging app to text Jughead.

 _Don’t let them take the deal,_ she sends.

She knows the moment when Jughead’s phone vibrates in his back pocket, because he jumps and then turns to glance at his car over his shoulder. When he doesn’t take his phone out, she sends another text. _Jug – DON’T DO THE DEAL._

Scott is busy haggling with the other mechanic – Betty thinks his name is Ferret – and the businessman, but this time, when Jughead takes the phone out, he has to apologetically look at Scott, who shoots him a dirty look.

Jughead reads her text, once, and then twice. Then, he replies. _Why not?_

Betty fights a grin. _Success!_ She thinks, and then types, quickly, _That’s Mason Allen, right?_

Jughead’s form hunches over the text as he reads. _Yeah, so?_

 _My dad had a run-in with him a few years ago, when his store was still in Riverdale. Dad was trying to get a part off him for our GTO project, but what Allen sold him was faulty and shoddy metal_ , she quickly types and sends. She then works on the next message.

 _When dad wanted his money back, Allen said no and laughed in his face. Dad had to finally threaten to run a story in the Register about him, and it was enough that Allen up and moved his business elsewhere. I guess now we know, it’s in Centerville_.

Jughead’s form straightens as he reads the last text, and he sends a look over his shoulder again, but she can’t read his expression. However, whatever she sent was enough because Jughead moves quickly to Scott and Ferret’s side, drawing them away from the businessman – Mason Allen – to form a quick huddle.

At first, neither seems inclined to trust Jughead’s word, but then Ferret sighs, and moves back to Allen. “Look, I really need to see one of the parts, at least.”

Allen sighs, realizing that he won’t get the rest of his money if he doesn’t wiggle a little in the negotiation, so he motions Ferret over to what Betty only now sees are a bunch of crates. One of his muscle takes a crowbar and unlatches the top of the crate. Ferret reaches in and shoves some paper shreds away; pulling out what Betty can easily see is part of a motorcycle crankshaft.

Ferret glances at Scott and Jughead, holding the piece in his hand. Scott nods, once, and then Ferret slams the crankshaft to the floor. There are other Serpents shouting, and Allen yells something, but all Betty can do is jump in her seat from the noise and stare.

Because the crankshaft is in pieces.

Scott strides forward and yanks the envelope of money from Allen’s hands. It seems to make the man move, because he and his muscle posture angrily. Of course, he seems to forget he’s facing off against seven very capable Serpents (and Betty does think her boyfriend is capable), and it is enough for Allen to bluster – but then he is getting in his car and so is his muscle.

Betty blinks as the headlights and their glare are no longer in her eyes, but their spots remain.

“Betts?”

Betty turns and Jughead is at her side, arms braced against the truck’s frame with the passenger door open. He’s staring at her, and she tilts her head in response. “Juggie?”

He glances off to the side – where the Serpents are gathered – and turns back to her, concern on his face warring with indecision. “Scott wants to talk to you.”

“Me?” shock colours her voice.

Jughead nods slowly.

Betty inches forward and then slides out of the passenger seat, tugging on her shirt to straighten it under her open coat. Jughead laces his fingers with hers, and after shutting the door, begins walking to the group of men.

Betty ducks her head bashfully, glancing at them from under her lashes. Scott, she knows; he is as tall and broad-shouldered as she remembers, and his beard his just as bushy. Ferret, too, she is vaguely familiar with; the other four are unknown, ranging in age from FP’s age, to potentially classmates of Jug’s at school.

“This her?” asks Scott gruffly.

Jughead nods. “My girlfriend, Betty.”

Scott turns his face to her, and glowers. “Jug here says that you knew that man. How?”

Betty feels the urge to curl her fingers, but can’t with Jughead still holding on her hand. She settles for rubbing her left hand against her jeans. “My dad tries to buy a part off him once, but it wasn’t good quality and nearly damaged the car.”

“What kind of car?” asks Ferret, interjecting and crossing his arms.

Betty glances at him and answers, “A ‘67 GTO.”

A flash of surprise crosses his freckled face briefly. “He tell you this?”

“No,” replies Betty, shaking her head. “I was the one who noticed the seam in the metal, and when I scratched it, it flaked. It wasn’t actually what Allen said it was. It was a shoddy part.”

The Serpents begin to murmur, but Scott silences them with a well-placed glare. “How long ago was this?”

Betty frowns. “About two? Maybe three years ago?”

There are some more grumbles, and Ferret says loudly enough, “I see he hasn’t changed then.”

Scott nods thoughtfully. “I guess we owe you thanks, then...” he trails off, a hand extended.

Betty gingerly reaches forward, ignoring Jughead’s sharp inhale next to her, and shakes Scott’s hand. “Betty. Betty Cooper.”

There is silence, and then—

_“Your girlfriend is from the north side?”_

_“She’s Hal and Alice Cooper’s kid??”_

_“Don’t they run the Register?”_

_“Jesus, Jughead – she’s a reporter!”_

Jughead scowls against their assault, and Betty’s head snaps back and forth, bouncing from one Serpent to the next as they try to shout over one another, their voices echoing loudly in the warehouse. Jughead moves to stand partially in front of her, but she’s under no illusion that he could fight them all.

“SHUT UP!” shouts Scott eventually, and they do. He turns to look back at Betty, something in his face. “You said Betty Cooper, right?”

She nods.

“The same Betty Cooper who wrote an article about FP’s innocence in the Blossom murder?”

Betty nods again, and sees Jughead stand straight with pleasure and pride at her action for her father.

Scott stares at her, an unreadable expression on his face. She is being weighed, judged, and it is a strange feeling. Normally, people do not judge Betty Cooper; her entire life and being is an open book to the people of Riverdale, her character and actions speak for themselves.

Finally, Scott’s face changes.

“You’re alright, Cooper,” he says, and his approval is all that is needed. “I guess it helps being a reporter’s kid, huh?”

“Well, if you mean I have juicy gossip about everyone in town,” she trails off, “then yeah. It helps.”

Scott just shakes his head, and Betty can see Ferret eagerly bouncing on his toes, wanting to talk to her about – mechanics, likely – but Jughead has noticed too, and he’s beginning to push her back with his body still in front of her.

“If that’s all, my girlfriend and I have a date to finish,” he says, and Betty can’t help the flush of pleasure ripple across her. He says it so straightforwardly – _his girlfriend_ – in front of the Serpents without a care, without a worry.

One of the younger Serpents with them hoots and another whistles, and Scott just waves them off. “Later, we’ll talk,” he says, speaking to her.

She understands; she might be accepted, but she can be helpful, too. And if it means it will keep Jughead out of trouble, their trouble, for a little bit longer – then she will do it.

*


	2. Two

Two

*

Rattle my bones and my heart can't take it  
I'm terrified; I know it's probably suicide  
But I don't care, it's a sweet temptation

\- Fitz and the Tantrums,  _Do What You Want_

* * *

At first, it’s all very innocent. Jughead asks her for the name of a reputable parts specialist that the Serpents can order from, for their motorcycles. As a grease monkey, Betty is fine with passing this information along; after all, any vehicles they drive -- whether it is a car or motorcycle -- is one that Jughead might be on, and therefore should only have the very best.

The Serpents don’t ask for much after that. In fact, it’s fairly quiet. She and Jughead are able to continue their Tuesday date nights without interruption, and a quiet settles over Betty, her life, and Riverdale.

(Unfortunately, this kind of quiet is deceptive. It’s like being underwater, and hearing people talking above, but the voices are indistinct and mumbly - there’s a distance, and everything is murky, hazy.)

It changes in March.

Jughead has been at Southside High for five months, and routine has settled in with both him, and his new school. Betty, however, still flounders every so often at Riverdale High School, turning and expecting her boyfriend and partner to be with her in the Blue and Gold (it’s amazing how their two months together influenced so much of her life). But just as she was settling in her new routine, something changed it: a text from an unknown number.

 _Hey_.

It's cryptic, and Betty frowns at the single word on her phone’s screen after cheer practice, wondering who it could be. Warily, she types back,  _Hey. Who’s this?_

The response is mind boggling on many levels.  _Ferret. I hope you don’t mind - I got your number from Jug._

“What on earth?” she mumbles, scrunching her face up in confusion. None of the Serpents contact her directly - only through Jughead for information that he always very carefully asks her for, his eyes often averted and a flush staining his pale cheeks (she never figures out if it was embarrassment or shame).

 _No, that’s fine_ , she replies, because what else could she write back? She bites her lip and hesitantly adds,  _Is everything okay?_

Ferret doesn’t reply immediately, so she slips the phone back into her bag and begins to walk home alone, Veronica and Archie on one of their ‘not dates,’ and Kevin is off doing prep for the Spring Dance.

Outside the school, the air is cold but mostly wet - the trials of living near bodies of water, like the Hudson, and Sweetwater River. There is some snow on the ground, but most of it is slush, an off-grey mass that melts into puddles on the road and freezes into sharp blobs of ice. Betty’s hair begins to frizz and curl - never an attractive look for her that makes her long for the drier air of spring and autumn - and she shoves her hands deep into her coat to ward of the wet chill. She’s barely walked half a block when the rumble of an engine pierces the air and the quiet residential neighbourhood.

Betty turns and blinks in surprise, a jet-black muscle car purring to a stop beside her at the sidewalk. The car is gorgeous: it’s a 1968 Shelby Mustang GT500-KR, not the convertible, and Betty knew if her father were standing beside her, he’d be on his knees worshipping the American-made Ford.

The window rolls down and Betty is surprised to see a familiar curly-haired young man peek out. “Betty,” he says in greeting.

“Ferret,” she replies, glancing up and down the street, but it is late enough that there aren’t any high school stragglers hanging around to see this odd event unfold.

“Want a lift?” he asks, leaning slightly across the center gearshift and bracing his right arm on the empty black leather passenger seat.

 _What is the appropriate answer here?_  she wonders.  _Do I get in a car with someone that isn’t my boyfriend, potentially pissing the Serpents off, or do I say no, and potentially piss the Serpents off?_

Betty sighs, slinging her bag from her back and moves to the passenger door. Ferret reaches and opens it from the inside, and the long door flings open. She slides into the car, looking around. Without realizing it, she runs her hand lovingly across the restored wood dash inserts.

Ferret is grinning at her when she finally turns to look at him. “You weren’t kidding when you said you like old things.”

“I like old cars,” she corrects, brows furrowed.

“Mmhmm,” he replies, and moves the gearshift into drive, and begins down the street. He doesn’t ask for directions, and Betty doesn’t supply them; either he already knows where she lives because the Serpents have stalked her out, or he wants to talk and won’t drop her off at home anyway until he says what he wants to say.

When he finally does speak, getting to the point of the conversation - asking the question he is desperate to ask her -, Betty is flabbergasted.

But she agrees, because what else could she say?

* * *

Selling the idea to her parents is all at once the most difficult thing Betty has ever done, and the easiest thing she has ever done. Polly is both incredulous and worried, but supportive of Betty’s decision; her mother, in usual Alice Cooper form, is scandalized, horrified, but a tiny bit smug. It is her father’s lack of reaction that worries her.

It worries her a few days later, still. As she is ready to bounce out the door early Saturday morning, she notices her father sitting at the breakfast table, finishing the last dregs of his coffee while her mother watches on from behind the rim of her mug.

“Ready to go then?” he asks, and Betty comes to a full stop - she stops breathing, she stops thinking, she stops moving.

“What?”

Hal places his mug on the tabletop with a firm clunk and stands. “I’m going to drop you off at Ferret’s garage.”

Betty eyes her father, and then her mother. In the months since Jughead took the Serpent jacket, there was no shortage of shouting matches between her and her parents regarding her relationship status with the young Jones. However, Betty is nothing if not loyal, and eventually, her parents acquiesced to her relationship with him (as Alice often says, she does actually like Jughead, and Hal has no opinion other than  _thank God it's not a Blossom_ ). In those months, Alice also revealed her own Southside past - and somehow, her family relaxes their rigid definitions of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ people in Riverdale to associate with.

But she doesn’t think that they would relax this much.

“You’re... driving me to Ferret’s garage?” she asks, slowly, tasting the words on her tongue. They are heavy and sticky in her mouth. “Why?”

Hal looks at his daughter, and it is a look of  _why-do-you-think_ , which Betty doesn’t quite know how to reply to. “Because you’re my daughter and a twenty-something man asked you to work for him?”

 _Well, when you put it that way,_  she thinks, and with a sigh, waits until her father is moving towards the garage. She nearly bites through her lip to stop herself from laughing hysterically – in either amusement or fear. Her father, in a strange show of masculinity and pride, decides to drop his youngest daughter off for her first day at work in his vintage sea foam 1967 Chevy Camaro.

Betty climbs in the passenger side, idly noting that there is less wood detail on the dash compared to Ferret’s Shelby, but otherwise the interiors are remarkably similar. Still, there is a scent of pine and leather, the comfort of home that Betty grew up with, and she relaxes, letting her father cruise the streets of Riverdale until he nears the address Ferret gave Betty the other week.

The garage is a tiny, self-standing building in grey without a sign, and ample parking if one wants. On one side of the lot, there are train tracks (one direction leading into Riverdale, and the other direction leads out to New York). The other side of the lot is a strip of grass that has managed to push through the snow and slush, and then there is a row of nondescript grey buildings, all without signs. Everything is quiet, still in the early morning.

Hal parks the car just to the side of the front of the building. There is a single door for entrance into the reception area, which they walk through. Betty peers around curiously. A row of battered chairs for visitors and a single desk, with an old computer (no flat screen LCD display but rather a clunky one with a large back), and a single phone are the only things in the reception area. There is no decoration, no signage, and certainly no certifications.

Just to her left is a large glass window that looks into the interesting part of the shop: the work area for the mechanics is large and airy, surprisingly bright. The space extends behind the reception and along the side of the building in what Betty assumes is an elongated L-shape, and inside, is the most gorgeous thing Betty has ever seen. (She vaguely notes that both she and her father have their noses pressed up against the glass, their breath fogging it up.)

The garage is like any normal garage: loud rock music, the whirr of power tools, the clang of something metallic hitting another, a few swear words here or there. They are familiar sounds. Ferret is shouting something at two other men in grease-stained jeans and over shirts, the grease rag in his hands mimicking the frantic movements of his arms as they flail.

Ferret’s 1968 Shelby is tucked in a far corner; there is 1964 Pontiac GTO Tri-Power in red, a purple 1971 Plymouth Hemi Cuda, and although she isn’t as familiar with motorcycles as cars, she thinks the black with red detail motorcycle with a single, large headlight someone is working on is a Triumph Bonneville.

She is in heaven.

Ferret notices her and strolls over, entering the reception area through a door that split the reception area and the garage, also with a glass window insert to view the garage. He greets her with a cheerful, “Betty! Nice to see you—” but doesn’t get much further than that, because her father is facing him straight on, eyes focused intensely on him.

At first, Betty thinks her father is going to try to intimidate the Serpent – the usual “my baby girl, my youngest daughter, she’s precious” spiel – but he doesn’t.

“Your Shelby, in the corner, does it have a 7.0 V-8 engine or has it been restored with a 5.4?” Hal demands.

Ferret is nonplussed and answers, “Original V8.”

Hal practically salivates. “And the horsepower on the Hemi? Four-hundred twenty five, right? How does it compare to the three-forty-eight in the GTO? Since the torque is better on the Hemi?”

And then they are off; Hal and Ferret are tossing numbers back and forth and delving into the details of the engines in the cars, Betty following along easily because she grew up with this. It’s not difficult to see something shift in Ferret’s eyes the longer he and Hal speak, or something shifting in her  _father’s_  eyes as they speak, and the next thing she knows, they are in the garage, and all three are peering under the hood of Ferret’s Shelby.

Eventually, Hal remembers himself (although it is two hours later, and after they all had an exhaustive tour of the hoods and underbellies of all three cars in the garage,  _and_  Hal’s Camaro outside, which Ferret told him to move into the garage).

“So, what exactly is it that you do here, Ferret?” Hal asks, crossing his arms and – Betty must admit – looking a bit intimidating despite wearing a royal blue Ralph Lauren sweater over top of a button-up with a crooked collar peeking out from the sweater. Her father is tall and broad, and never has she been reminded more than now that he used to be a Riverdale Bulldog.

“It’s one of the main sources of income,” replies Ferret. “We purchase vintage cars and motorcycles at auctions for at a low price across the country and then restore them. We then sell them on.”

 _A very honest and legal answer to one thing that the Serpents do to make their money,_  thinks Betty, approvingly.

Hal frowns. “My wife used to be a Southside Serpent. I am not ignorant of what goes on.”

It is the first time Hal has ever publicly admitted to Betty's mother’s past, and something inside Betty freezes. She’s not the only one – while Hal has certainly earned the approval and admiration of Ferret and the other mechanics in the garage (all with strange names like Muskrat, Dingo, and Jackal) – the obvious reference of their association startles them.

Ferret however, nods, as if he was expecting it. “The Serpents are a gang. I won’t lie about that – but what we do here, at my garage, is above board. This is my job – and I damn like doing it. I don’t exactly want it taken away by Keller or anyone else.”

There is a minor threat there. Hal doesn’t care.

“And you’ve asked  _my daughter_  to work here, because her knowledge of cars impressed you,” continues Hal, eyes hard. “My  _underage_ ,  _teenage_  daughter.”

Ferret is unapologetic when he replies, “And if you weren’t working at the Register, I’d probably ask you, too. Although being a reporter probably pays better.”

The two stare at each other for a few moments, Betty nervously clenching her fists and unclenching them, eyes darting back and forth between the two men.

Then –

Hal laughs. He extends a hand to Ferret, who shakes it with a grin blossoming across his face.

“I like you,” announces Hal, pumping the hand once, twice. He then tightens his grip and yanks Ferret forward, so that the young man is forced to lean in and look at her father – who stands a few inches taller. “But so help me, God, if my daughter  _ever_  gets caught up in anything illegal related to this garage, to you, or anyone who works here with you, I will go after you with everything and anything I have. Do you understand me?”

It’s the kind of threat that a Serpent understands: family first. And Ferret – as well as Muskrat, Dingo, and Jackal, who have all overheard the threat – immediately agree to, without concessions or sputters.

And that is how Betty found herself working every weekend for extra cash, at a Serpent-run restoration garage.

* * *

Tuesday nights are still her and Jug’s ‘dinner-and-a-movie’ nights, and they are – mostly – left alone. But tonight, while they are cozily nuzzled next to each other on one side of the booth, not a single sliver of air between them, they are interrupted by Muskrat.

The man looks odd in the bright lights and cherry red of Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe, nervously wringing his hands as he approaches the couple. Jughead stiffens immediately upon recognizing the tall, burly-looking man with messy salt-and-pepper hair and four o’clock shadow, a perpetual grease stain on his forehead.

“Sorry to bother,” he begins, casting an apologetic glance at Betty. She stifles her disappointment – instead of calling Jughead, they are now sending people to attend to him and cart him off to wherever they need him.

Jughead makes a move to slide out of the booth, but Muskrat’s next words halt him. “Um, Betty – I’m having some trouble with my car, and the missus needs it tomorrow to visit her folks up in Plattsburg. Do you think you can come take a quick look at it?”

The question is novel – that a Serpent is coming to  _her_  for help. Both she and Jughead stare at each other in bewildered shock, his mouth a tiny bit open before he snaps it shut.

“Um, of course,” replies Betty, and Jughead slides out to let her slip across the booth to follow Muskrat outside. From the window, she can see Jughead watching, a peculiar look not leaving his face as she checks the usual, finds the problems, and solves it for Muskrat, who apologizes again for interrupting her date.

“Not a problem,” she says kindly, and finishes with, “I hope Carrie enjoys herself.” (She remembers all her fellow mechanics’ wives’ names, and their kids’. She is blind, failing to notice it endears her to them a bit more every time she asks after their families.)

Muskrat cheerfully waves goodbye, and Betty and Jughead make it to their film at the Bijou with more than enough time to spare, thinking nothing of the odd, amusing encounter.

Until it happens again.

This time, Betty is leaving cheer practice, in a bit of a rush so she is still in her uniform. Polly had texted her some emergency with the twins, and her parents were at a journalism conference in Albany, leaving Betty the sole source of help (neither wants to ask Cheryl). But Dingo is outside Riverdale High School, looking very uncomfortable in his leather jacket as a few teens give him a wide berth and cut-eye. He is standing with his hands in his pockets, next to his motorcycle.

“I know I could’ve had Ferret send you a text,” is how he begins their conversation when she stands in front of him, “But you mentioned that your dad knew a good supplier for hard to find parts?”

“Yes...” she trails off, incredulously.

Dingo shifts, running a hand back and forth over his buzz cut head, nervously. “Do you think you could write it down for me? The light blew on ol' Bonnie here, and I don’t want to get a ticket for driving without a proper headlight from Keller and his goons – it’s just hard to find the right bulbs.”

Betty nods, taking out a notebook and pen, and writing the information down for him, all the while ignoring the creeping suspicion that is growing. She hands the information to Dingo, who then waves goodbye, his motorcycle roaring out of the school parking lot.

“What did he want?” asks Archie, Reggie following closely behind him as they stop next to her, still in their Bulldog uniforms – they must have seen her from the field and cut their practice short to come over.

Betty turns to her childhood friend and says, eyes a bit wide, “He wanted information on a place to purchase a lightbulb for his motorcycle headlight.”

“What?” says Archie, flabbergasted.

Reggie snorts. “Doesn’t he know those run on LEDs? You can get them at Home Hardware.” He shakes his head. “Weirdo gangbanger.”

 _And that,_  thinks Betty,  _is exactly it_.

It doesn’t stop though – some days, a Serpent she knows will come up and ask her something technical or mechanical about a car or motorcycle. They then happily enthuse about her skills or brings her a tiny bit of cash as a thank you (baked goods are nice, from their wives and girlfriends, but they quickly learn that Betty excels at baking, and they stop bringing her food - much to the Bulldogs dismay, as she kept passing the goods off to Reggie and Moose).

Other times, a Serpent will ask her to talk to their wife or girlfriend, or ask if she could babysit their young kid. She doesn’t say “no”, because Betty Cooper doesn’t say no, ever.

They keep their promise to her father, and she is never around anything illegal or dodgy, and many of those at Ferret’s garage soon become protective of her. She likes the warm feeling of pride when she fixes something for them, or the happiness that blooms in her chest when her acts spark reciprocal gestures from them and their families.

She likes the gummy smiles Muskrat’s toddler Xavier gives her after eating one of her chocolate chip cookies, or the gratitude Jackal’s long-term girlfriend espouses when Betty helps her catch up on all the housework she let slide in their Sunnyside trailer after working a 75-hour work week to pay some overdue bills.

Once or twice, she catches the familiar snake and leather jacket combo when she’s at the SoDale mall with Veronica, lurking behind a mannequin or in the food court, like some silent sentry sent to watch over her. She doesn’t say anything to Jughead about them, because they’re harmless and in a way, it’s comforting knowing that they’re watching over her.

It won’t be until much –  _much_  – later that she will understand that this was their way of enfolding her into the Southside Serpents, slowly, with kindness and comfort; that this was a step closer to a leather jacket of her own.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you guys managed it. You convinced me to keep writing this! What am I going to do with all my other WIPs?
> 
> I'm not sure when I'll update this next, but if you have suggestions or prompts, feel free to send them to me at my Tumblr, [writing_as_tracey](http://writing-as-tracey.tumblr.com). I'm always interested in new ideas!


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Village_Skeptic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/village_skeptic/pseuds/village_skeptic), who provided me with the prompt that took up a portion of this chapter! You're the best!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr: [writing-as-tracey](http://writing-as-tracey.tumblr.com/), to send prompts, or anything else. Or, feel free to leave them behind here in the comments, too.

Three

*

Forty days and forty nights  
I waited for a girl like you to come and save my life  
Recall the days I waited for you  
You know the ones who said, “I’d never find someone like you.”

\- Fitz and the Tantrums, _Out of My League_

* * *

Winter turns into spring, and the snow (and the damp) recedes. Spring Break is around the corner and once upon a time, before Jason, before the twins, before even Jughead, she and Polly would consider taking some time off, beg their parents for approval, and travel to the Caribbean with the other Americans and spend a week in Cabo.

The time for that has long passed.

The twins – Jason Jr and Eliza – are almost four months old now and run the Cooper household. Everything is baby-proofed, and Eliza, the fearless of the two, has begun to roll over. But there are two of them, and they are eating Polly out of house and home, and often their mother’s grocery runs don’t last very long.

This sparks “Polly’s extreme couponing phase,” as Jughead calls it.

(Betty calls it “insanity.”)

It is a peaceful Tuesday afternoon, the week before their Spring Break, and Betty, finally free from her responsibilities – she will not have to attend anything at Riverdale High until Friday, when she and Kevin run the Spring Fling dance.

She has plans – as usual – to spend with Jughead that evening, but they change things up and he is over at the Cooper residence currently, having skipped his last class of the day. They are curled up on the couch together in the living room, watching something on the television.

Jughead is draped across the couch, slouched and comfortable in ways she has never truly seen him before. It pleases her, and when she glances over at him, she thinks, _he looks so relaxed and at home_.

One elbow is against the far armrest, propping his head up, which is slightly tilted. His eyes are firmly fixed on the documentary he is watching, something about Bonnie and Clyde on the History Channel, and his other arm is draped across the back of the couch. His legs are spread, in that take-up-as-much-space-as-I-can way men do, but here, in her home, Betty likes it. She is against his side, knees drawn up and lightly dozing when Polly enters the living room.

“Hey, you two,” she greets, looking slightly apologetic. Everyone looks apologetic at interrupting them – other Serpents, their friends, her sister. Betty is waiting for the day her parents look like that, and then she will know the world is ending.

“Pol,” says Betty, glancing up at her sister as she hovers by the armrest near Jughead, who glances at her. At her frustrated face, he reaches for the discarded remote, careful not to jostle Betty. “What’s up?”

Polly bites her lip, shifting a bit on her bare feet. Ever since the twins’ birth, she has remained curvier, her face fuller than before, and there are superficial differences between the sisters where before they were nearly mirror images. “I’ve run out of formula again.”

Betty pulls herself from Jughead’s side, and feels the arm that was resting against the back of the couch slide down and curl around her waist. He is always touching her, somehow, and she pushes a small smile down at the feel of his warm hand against her.

“Do you need us to go get some more for you?” she asks, because there is no way she is going without her boyfriend.

Polly nods. “Is that okay?” she then blurts out, “Actually, can I come with? I’m getting cabin fever and I think it would be nice to get everyone outside.”

By ‘everyone’, she means the twins. And that means a _lot_ of prep. Betty and Jughead share a glance, and without speaking, she can read him.

He shrugs. _It’s up to you,_ he is saying.

She rolls her bottom lip into her mouth, and watches as his eyes darken. She then looks at the antique grandfather clock her mother has tucked in the corner of the living room, its heavy weight and pendulum swinging silently back and forth. When her eyes meet Jughead’s again, he reads from her, _we might be late to dinner._

He quirks an eyebrow and a small smile appears. _Who cares? It’s your_ sister _. It’s your_ family.

Betty flushes with pleasure and ducks her head slightly. When she turns to look at Polly, her sister is incredulous and amused.

“God, you two are so weird,” she says, looking back and forth between them. “Seriously. How do you do that?”

“It’s a talent,” drawls Jughead, and Betty rises from the seat and help her sister get the twins ready in their thick and warm clothing for the outing. “Should I go baby proof the truck?”

Polly smiles at Jughead, her green eyes sparking. “Oh, would you? Thank you so much, Jughead!”

He rolls his eyes, but the pleased look in them belays his pleasure at helping the Cooper sisters. He was always a sucker for them.

It takes them some time – nearly forty minutes – before Polly, a new mother without Alice around to be her spot-checker – is confident that she dressed the twins correctly, that Jughead hooked the car seats in properly, and then that they are in their car seats properly in the crew cab of FP’s truck. Once she gives permission to proceed, she climbs into the back, and Betty and Jughead sit in the front, holding hands between them.

 There is only one grocery chain in all of Riverdale; because the town is small, the SuperValu is shared with Greendale and Centerville, along with the generic WalMart. In each of the three towns, there are smaller, mom n’ pop owned grocers that provide local and seasonal food from farmers, but Jughead does not take them there, nor do they travel the hour or so it would take to get to the nearest bigger city – Saratoga Springs – to find a CostCo or Sam’s Club.

The SuperValu is not busy when they arrive, but there are cars in the parking lot, with the stay-at-home moms and retirees who do their weekday afternoon shopping as opposed to working families who crowd the store on weekends.

There is more wrangling to be done – Jughead gets a shopping cart, and Polly and Betty both take one of the twins. They are an odd sight as they enter the building – all three are under eighteen (although Polly’s birthday is coming up soon), and the sisters are carrying two squirming bundles of strawberry-blonde babies, their bright blue eyes trying to curiously see their surroundings.

Polly decides to purchase more than just formula while there, and whips out a small filo-folder, the coupons inside neatly organized by product and aisle, all them clipped in perfect squares and clean edges. (You can take the girls away from Alice Cooper, but the Alice Cooper neuroses remains in the girls.)

When they are turning down the next aisle, methodologically going up and down each one, they spot a familiar figure. She is young, as well, but not nearly as young as Polly, in skinny jeans and a men’s flannel button-up; the clothing is worn, but well-tended. Her toddler is waving his hands from his seat at the front of the shopping cart, attempting to grab the bright-coloured cereal boxes.

“Melissa! Xavier!” greets Betty, and Muskrat’s wife turns at her name. She is a brunette with long, curly hair – although the curls are probably from a lack of styling and time than nature. Her face splits into a grin at the sight of two familiar faces.

“Betty!” she says, happily, knowing the blonde to be an excellent babysitter. “Jughead, hello.”

Catching her curious look at her sister, Betty introduces them. “Polly, this is Melissa. Her husband works at Ferret’s garage with me. Mel, this is my sister, Polly, and my adorable niece and nephew.”

Babies bring people together in a way that puppies do, and soon Polly and Melissa are talking back and forth to one another, Melissa explaining about colic and rashes and temper tantrums, and Polly eagerly soaks it up.

By unspoken decision, the two groups merge as one, and together they browse the shelves, Polly eagerly handing over her clipped coupons to Melissa – who does her best to not appear embarrassed by the action, but saving a dollar or two is helpful overall.

At first, they don’t notice anything wrong. It’s not until they have explored half of the store does Betty begin to notice the lingering gazes of the older shoppers, their mouths moving behind their hands, the judgment in their eyes.

“What do you think, Betts?” asks Jughead, eyes dancing as he grabs a bottle of Nestle Chocolate Syrup, holding it up for her inspection. “Can we put this to good use?”

She blushes furiously, snatching it from his hand and places it back on the shelf. “Jughead Jones!”

He gives a tiny huff of laughter, and then she hears it.

_“How disgraceful, those Cooper girls. Their parents should be so ashamed, with them spending so much time around Southside trash.”_

Betty’s entire form freezes, and she can only watch as Jughead – who hasn’t heard a thing (or has he?) – continues down the aisle, pushing the cart slowly and following Melissa and Polly, who are much further ahead and reading the back of two different brands of jarred apricots.

Betty turns her head slightly, and spots the two women who are still eyeing her family – and they are: beyond Polly and her blood connection to her niece and nephew, Jughead is family. Even Melissa and little Xavier are part of her extended family now.

She recognizes the women; one is the elderly Ms. Giorgio, and the other is her crib partner and friend, as well as notable town gossip, Ms. Debenham. Betty used to volunteer at their retirement home when she was younger, and always thought they liked her – now she is beginning to see differently.

They are still speaking; either unaware or uncaring that she can hear them.

_“Why, that Pollyanna Cooper, unwed and a single mother at her age! Not even eighteen yet. How does Alice deal with that?”_

_“Forget Alice – it’s_ Hal _we should feel sorry for. Didn’t his mother warn him? Warn him what it meant becoming involved with young Alice Patton? Everyone warned him.”_

 _“Harold was such a good boy – he must be horrified to know what his daughters are up to. And that young Elizabeth! Goodness – what a sweetheart and there she is, with a_ Jones _! It’s like seeing her mother all over again. Hopefully she smartens up and doesn’t end up like her sister.”_

_“Ha! Spend enough time around a Jones and your life will be ruined, and that girl is halfway there.”_

Betty’s face is pale and her breathing is sharp, painful in her lungs. She feels a sharp sting, and looks down; she hadn’t even realized that she had curled her hands into fists, and that her nails had pierced her skin. _When did I last do that?_ She wonders, and realizes, that she hadn’t had an episode for _months_ , not since Fred Andrews was in the ICU.

“Betts?”

She looks up at her name, and see Jughead standing in front of her, eyes searching hers. Polly and Melissa are gone, as is the cart, and she wonders how long she was standing there, staring at the canned beans, overhearing the conversation the two old gossips were having within her earshot. She turns her head slightly and sees that they are gone, but when she looks back at Jughead – he knows.

His face softens. “Oh, Betts...”

“Juggie,” she says, and to her horror, she can feel her lip tremble and her eyes begin to water.

He enfolds her in his arms, one hand low on her back and the other slipping comfortably to rest against the back of her neck, one of his favourite spots. He tucks her head into the crook of his neck and murmurs against her, “Don’t. Don’t let it get to you.”

“How?” she whispers, her voice stuttering. “How can I not? What they said about Polly – about _you_ and me—”

He draws her back slightly to look her in the eyes. “I’ve been hearing it my whole life. Once, I might have believed every vile thing said.”

“Once?” she repeats.

He nods, and a small, crooked smile appears on his face. It’s the smile he saves for her, and only her, and she treasures every single moment she sees it. “And then I met this gorgeous blonde. She’s strong, and fierce, and makes me believe in so many things, that I can’t help feeling like everything is going to work out.”

“Yeah?” she says.

“Yeah,” he replies.

She takes a deep breath, and begins to calm and center herself.

“Okay,” she finally says, and he takes her hands – bloodied now – in his and brings them to his mouth to kiss, gently. He keeps his hand in one of hers, leading her back around the corner to the next aisle, where the shopping carts are almost full and Polly has her phone’s calculator out, and she is tallying up their purchases to ensure they have enough money to cover it all, Melissa standing beside her, helpfully calling out the products.

Polly pauses between items, glancing at her sister. “Is everything okay?”

Betty nods, looking back at her boyfriend. “Never better.”

* * *

The Spring Fling dance is the second last dance of the school year; she and Kevin are working up towards what they hope will be an epic prom, despite not being seniors themselves.

Betty is wearing a flowing pink dress, her hair artfully styled and curled into a half-up design, very different from her usual ponytail or straight hair. Jughead was hesitant to attend the Riverdale High event, knowing that Principal Weatherbee and he do not see eye-to-eye, but Betty, along with Archie, talks him into it.

So far, the evening is enjoyable; Betty took his suggestions for food into account, and he is happily eating his way through a bevy of finger food selections, talking with Archie and Kevin. Veronica and Betty are off somewhere else, lost in the haze of reflective disco balls, twining gold and silver streamers, and pink and green helium-filled balloons.

The night is going better than the Homecoming dance he last attended, when his father was arrested, and it is for that very reason that Jughead doesn’t quite relax. He is glad he is hyperaware of something going wrong, because when it does, he is not disappointed.

His phone rings, and he answers it promptly, because the only person who would call him that isn’t at the dance, is a Serpent.

He moves to a corner of the gym, and although it isn’t quiet, it is better than where he was standing before. “What is it?”

“We need you and Betty to come to the police station,” says Scott, and Jughead is thrown.

“The station? What for?” his breath quickens. “Is it my dad? Is everything okay?”

“FP’s fine,” says Scott, his voice low and unhappy. “But Muskrat and Melissa are here, and Mel said that Betty’s one of the few that can get Xavier to calm down. And right now, he’s a screaming mess.”

“What are they doing at the station?” wonders Jughead, thoroughly confused.

Scott is not answering, grumpily snapping, “Just get down here, kid,” and then hangs up.

Jughead slides the phone into his dress trouser pocket, looking around the darkened gym for his girlfriend, her blonde hair a beacon. He finds her speaking to Ethel Muggs, and as his eyes do a quick scan, he notices Kevin has disappeared. He frowns.

“Betts,” he says, sidling up to her, not caring that he interrupted her conversation.

Something in his face and voice has her quickly excusing them from Ethel, who wanders away. Jughead draws her further into a corner and says, “We need to go. I got a call from Scott, and Melissa needs you.”

Betty’s eyes widen. “Is something wrong with her? Is everything okay?”

Jughead exhales heavily and runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. He hasn’t worn his beanie in months now, and at that single moment, he misses it. “I don’t know. They’re at the station.”

Betty’s green eyes widen, and without a word, she grabs his hand and they leave the dance. Idly, Jughead darkly wonders, _will I ever get to dance with Betty without something happening?_ but then realizes it wouldn’t be Riverdale if that happened.

They arrive at the station in their full fancy dress, frantic and worried, as their minds turned over one horrible scenario after another. As soon as they push open the door and bound up the stairs, they can hear the wail of a toddler screaming himself hoarse. Betty makes a distressed noise and darts forward, and sees a harried officer trying to bounce and shush Xavier, who is red-faced and cheeks wet with tears.

“Egsy,” cries Betty, and at the nickname, the toddler wails harder, his arms reaching for the familiar face. The officer gratefully hands the toddler over to her, and Jughead stares at them, hard.

“Where’s Melissa and Steven?” he asks.

It takes Betty a moment to realize that Steven is Muskrat’s birth name.

“Speaking with the Sheriff,” replies the officer, exhausted.

“What happened?” asks Betty, and Xavier curls around her torso and neck, cuddling deep into her and tucking a thumb into his mouth. His body is shuddering in after effects of his cries, and tiny hiccups escape every so often.

The officer looks and her, and then at Jughead, and says, “I can’t tell you that.”

So, they sit and wait, wondering when someone will speak to them. Betty, of course, wonders why they are there and none of the other Serpents, but another part of her goes, _duh_ , why would a bunch of gang members hang out around a police station?

Eventually, Sheriff Keller emerges from one of the interrogation rooms. His entire body is tired, drooping – the past few months have shaken him and Riverdale to the core. Upon seeing the two, he sighs, loudly, and turns his eyes upward.

“I’m guessing you got a call,” he says to Jughead, who warily nods.

The relationship between Sheriff Keller and Jughead is strange; they don’t particularly like each other much, but there is also some grudging form of ambivalence between them as well. Jughead is friends with Kevin, and the Sheriff wants his son happy; but at the same time, as a parent, he is utterly unhappy with FP for not taking care of his son better, and is upset at the idea of Jughead being a Serpent.

Jughead, of course, is righteously angry with Sheriff Keller for bungling the Blossom case and for FP’s continued incarceration, as well as the sharp judgment he sees in the man’s eyes whenever they look at him. _But_ he is also Kevin’s father, and Kevin is a friend who helped him – and mostly Betty – out when they needed it. Kevin, who, like Betty, is caught between two worlds with his friendships and relationship with Joaquin.

With his hands on his hips, standing in front of them, Sheriff Keller says, “Steven Warrington was picked up at the Walgreens in Centerville a few hours ago. He was caught swiping some prescription strength drugs from behind the pharmacy counter. We brought in his wife to explain since he kept his mouth shut, but she’s as quiet as him.”

Keller looks the two of them over. “Either of you want to shed some light on this, or do I need to book him for intent to distribute and her for obstruction?”

Betty and Jughead share baffled looks. This was the first they had heard about prescription drugs, from either of them.

“Could we – I mean,” stutters Betty, “Can I see Melissa? And take her son in with me?”

Keller’s entire body sags. “Why the hell not – it’s not like anything else has worked,” he is muttering, and Betty is painfully reminded that her small town’s police department consists of Kevin’s father, two other deputy sheriffs, and three actual officers. The law is not followed to a T in small, enclosed towns where everyone knows everyone.

Betty stands with Xavier in her arms, glancing at Jughead who nods back reassuringly. Keller leads her to the room he was using to speak to Melissa – separate from her husband – and upon entering, she stands up and cries, “Oh thank God,” reaching for her son.

Betty hands him over, and watches as Melissa sheds a few tears and smoothes her son’s hair down, clutching him to her. She looks up and says, gratefully, “Thank you, Betty.”

Betty smiles and sits opposite of her. “It’s fine, Mel. He calmed down as soon as he saw me.” She looks curiously around the room, at the lack of camera and the partially closed blinds. “What’s going on? Why did Jug and I get the call to come here?”

Melissa’s face crumples, and she buries it in her son’s curly hair. She stutters through a few sobs and then whispers, “Betty, can you keep this secret?”

Betty frowns. “If it puts someone in danger, I won’t.”

Melissa looks at her for a long moment, but then sighs. “I have Lupus. I need Plaquenil tablets, but we can barely afford them of top of everything else, with the doctor’s visits and rent, and food...”

Betty closed her eyes. “So Muskrat went to fill your prescription—”

“And his credit card bounced,” finished Melissa tiredly. “So he stole it, instead, to keep my flare ups and pain manageable. If I stop taking it, the withdrawal symptoms and pain can be bad.”

“How much are the tablets?” asks Betty, her hands clenching under the table.

Melissa sighs. “Over two hundred for a two month supply.”

Betty does some quick calculations in her hand, and a plan begins to form. “Melissa, can you give me a minute?”

The other woman nods, closing her eyes and snuggling into her son. Betty stands from the table and leaves the room, feeling the sharp sting of her palms as she does so. Jughead immediately stands when he sees her, his eyes zooming in on her fists. He reaches for her and smoothes her hands flat, weaving their fingers together, while she looks at Sheriff Keller, fire in her eyes.

“I know what happened,” she says, and Sheriff Keller almost looks surprised.

“What?” he asks.

Betty takes a deep breath and says, “Melissa has an autoimmune disease, and they ran short of the funds needed to refill her prescription.”

Keller swears under his breath and Jughead’s form stills beside her. It’s a delicate situation – and morally ambiguous: do you charge the man with theft for taking the pills, dooming his wife to pain and potentially further debt, or do you let him go and help his family out?

Betty shuffles and says, “I have an idea.”

Keller looks at her, and is all at once reminded that this girl – _young woman_ , he corrects himself – along with her boyfriend, his son, and their friends, solved a murder case barely half a year ago while he was caught up playing politics between the Blossoms and the Mayor’s office. “What is it?”

She lays out the plan, and Keller nods along. Beside her, Jughead’s face slowly morphs from tired confusion to bright pride, his eyes sparkling as he looks at her.

Eventually, Keller says, “If everyone agrees, then... yeah, I’ll expunge this from the record. It never happened.”

“Thank you,” says Betty, and she pulls her cellphone out to make a call. “Ferret? Hi, it’s Betty. Listen – I need you to make some changes to my paycheck...”

A few hours later, Melissa and Muskrat are standing outside the station with Jughead and Betty, their eyes bleary and red-rimmed, emotions spilling over. The petty theft is struck from Muskrat’s (albeit, small) record, and there is no discussion about intent to distribute at all. Instead, he is doing all he can to hold back his emotional response to the skinny blonde thing in front of him.

“Betty,” he begins, voice cracking, and it is hard for _her_ to not burst into tears at the sight of a thirty-something year old man fighting back tears. “I can’t even begin – thank you. Thank you so much.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” she says instead, and Muskrat wraps in her a large bear hug, lifting her off the ground, swallowing a happy, choked sob.

Earlier, she called Ferret, vaguely explained the situation, and told him to move her pay from working at the garage to Muskrat’s cheques instead. _I don’t need the money,_ she had said, _I live at home with my parents, and they have a savings account for my college tuition anyway._

Ferret agreed, and Betty fronted the money for the stolen pills, after a quick trip to the bank ATM. She won’t be able to do that for everyone – but she likes Melissa, and she likes Muskrat and Xavier, and their family shouldn’t suffer because of something Melissa can’t control with her body.

It does mean that she won’t have much spending money, but she has money left over from her summer internship the previous year, and there is always the option of getting a summer job when June rolls around. She isn’t without options, like others are.

After the family leaves, and she and Jughead are alone, he turns to her, eyes bright and feverish. His hands come up and frame her jaw, and he swoops down, fiercely kissing her, drawing her very breath into his body and leaving her breathless and dizzy. 

He presses her tight against him, and when she finally draws back, looking into his eyes questioningly, he only lightly laughs and uses a finger to trace the side of her face.

“How did I get so lucky?” he asks, rhetorically.

She shakes her head, and he steers her to the truck they arrived in, intent to take her to his trailer to show his appreciation of her some more.

Eventually, far in the future, Betty will realize that the lack of Serpents at the station was deliberate – that it was a test for her and Jughead, one that they passed. They never engineered the situation, of course, but they certainly took advantage of it. Betty was given a choice – either help a Serpent out, or don’t. She owed Melissa and Muskrat no loyalty, but Serpents take care of their own.

Betty showed she would take care of them, too.

Serpents take care of their own.

*


	4. Four (part one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Bob Morley this weekend at FanExpo inspired me to write more of this story - especially as he's my inspiration for Ferret! I had the summary planned, but hadn't gotten around, and now it's amusing because the Grease Monkey!Betty and the stills from season 2 seem to be colliding into Grease 2.0 and I had this direction planned back in May.

Four (part one)

*

What you need?

What you want?

It’s time to open your eyes and find what you lost

\-- Fitz and the Tantrums, “Get Right Back”

* * *

“I need a favour.”

Betty’s nose wrinkles at the request coming down the phone line, Ferret’s voice approaching a distinct whine; the young Serpent and she had fallen into a friendly relationship over the months she had been working at the garage.

However, that afternoon, was particularly trying. She had not seen Jughead in a few weeks – he was either busy with school as graduation neared, or with the Serpents – and things were tense at Riverdale High with nerves a’flutter for university acceptances in the graduating seniors, Cheryl Blossom and Chuck Clayton included. As such, Cheryl was riding the River Vixens hard and Betty felt tired and rundown.

“It really depends what the favour is,” she replies instead, hedging a bit. Her walk home from school is no longer snowy and cold, damn and humid. Spring has arrived in Riverdale: there are small green buds on the trees; birds are chirping and building nests, and the grass is green, not brown, and spotty.

“I need you to come by the garage,” answers Ferret instead. “I can’t speak about it on the phone.”

 _Ominous_ , she thinks, checking her mental calendar and what commitments she already has. Homework, of course, and babysitting Polly’s twins, as well as editing a few articles for the Blue and Gold, but otherwise, she could make it to the garage is she wants.

She bites her lips and sighs. “Fine. I’ll get on the bus and be there in an hour.”

She sends a text to her mother, informing her that she’ll likely be late (or miss completely) dinner, and then finds her way to the nearest bus shelter, checking the route on the posted sheet and comparing it with her phone’s Google Maps. Within minutes, the blue-and-yellow schemed bus appears and rolls up; she gets on and is off, the town passing her by until she’s at the edges.

Ferret’s Auto Garage is one of the few buildings on the fringe of town, surrounded on all sides by industrial warehouses. People do not linger outside; they don’t linger much in general in the area. And yet, there is a skinny young man with a mop of curly hair waiting for her, in a light khaki jacket over dark jeans and heavy work boots. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, and a cigarette dangles from his lips.

Betty blinks as she steps off the bus. “You didn’t want to wait in the garage?”

“I thought it best to meet you,” he replies, scuffing the toe of his boot a bit while his words are slightly mangled from keeping the cigarette in his mouth. He finally brings one hand out from the pocket and removes the cigarette, tapping it and then flicking it away. “Thanks for coming.”

“You asked me to,” she replies, and he shrugs.

That’s when she notices it: he’s nervous.

His hair is messier than normal, and there is a heavy shadow fuzz on his jaw and chin, one that speaks of going longer than a day without a shave; furthermore, there are bags under his eyes that are reminiscent of her boyfriends’ back when he was homeless and sleeping at the Twilight.

Betty doesn’t speak, allowing herself to walk in companionable silence beside Ferret as they head towards the garage. He unlocks the door and ushers her in first.

The place is silent.

It is eerie, and Betty represses a shiver, her eyes darting around.

The garage is dark and empty; the lights are off and there are no cars in the unit, nothing being worked on. Just that past weekend, she and Ferret were finishing a Barracuda – _where did it go?_ She wonders.

Ferret brushes by and goes into the garage, flicking on light switches as he does so. With each flick of his finger, there is a hum as the fluorescent lights snap on – the faint, flickering heartbeat in a cold, dark void that is the garage. It is cold, and stale, and Betty misses the sounds of drills and laughter and swearing and 80s rock on the radio station.

“What happened? Where are the cars?” she asks, turning in her spot, trying to imagine where he might have hid them.

Ferret shrugged when she finally faces him. “Gone.”

“Gone how?”

He shrugs again, and Betty can see how tense he is. “We had to sell them.”

“Isn’t that what you normally do, anyway?” she asks, confused. She knows that the garage is used by the Serpents as a legit business, above-board so that they can float the cash that they need for other, illegal operations. She knows they deal in weed, and sometimes in other drugs, too, but never in Riverdale and far away from kids, given how many of them are actually middle-aged men with teenaged children.

“Yeah,” agrees Ferret with a deep sigh, “But we don’t have the money for anything new. Remember how I said we scout out auctions and buy up cars to kit out?”

She nods.

“That’s not going to happen anymore,” he says, and then begins walking towards the back of the garage where his office is. Betty follows.

“Why not?”

“Because FP’s still in jail,” snorts Ferret miserably, opening his office door and turning on the light. It is a catastrophe of paper and binders, a mess that showed that a man had ransacked the office looking for something – or that someone lost their temper. “He was the one who had the connections at the auctions, getting us deals and always floating the money ahead of time. But with him gone, let’s face it, we’re not exactly the smartest of the lot when it comes to finances.”

Betty watches Ferret shuffle around his desk; stare down at it, and the scowl. He begins riffling through the paper as he talks to her, around mumbles she doesn’t quite understand. Eventually, he finds what he was looking for – a ledger and a slip of paper.

He stares at both, eyes darting back and forth, indecision on his face. His mouth is pulled down low, and Betty can see just how clearly unhappy he is, in whatever decision he has to make.

Then, he sighs, and hands her the slip.

“What’s this?” she asks, and reads it.

She reads it again, and looks at him in confusion.

“I... don’t understand,” she says slowly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Ferret scowls. “Not at all. God, no! Betts, you’re the best we’ve got here. But...” his face twists. “If I don’t have any cars, I can’t keep you on. I know – you gave over your portion of wages to help out Muskrat – but I can’t have you here as free labour.”

Numbness creeps up from her legs to her chest and Betty’s knees tremble as she tries to stay upright. “You’re... you’re firing me.”

“Letting you go,” he corrects gently, his eyes full of misery. “And everyone else. As of last weekend, when that Barracuda was finished, we were out of business.”

“But--!” she sputters, eyes looking around wildly.

She doesn’t know how to explain it, really – a part of her should be happy to have her weekends back, no longer working at a Serpents’ garage. Veronica and Kevin would be ecstatic, and Archie would commiserate with her, but... she enjoyed working there. She enjoyed working with her hands and machinery in ways she rarely could at home under her mother’s judgmental eyes. She enjoyed working with Ferret, and Muskrat, and Jackal and the others, because they weren’t _just_ Serpents, they were friends, too.

And, _god,_ she thought, _the Serpents_.

Despite the reputation around Riverdale, and around her own mother’s dubious history and Jughead’s, she enjoyed spending time with them. They weren’t the rough-n-tumble group that Sheriff Keller made them out to be, nor were they drug dealers the way that everyone else thought they were; they were regular people who took up in the gang as a form of steady employment – even if that ‘employment’ was doing odd and barely legal things around town and the state.

With Jughead being further dragged in to them, while FP was in jail, Betty had seen working at the garage as a way to stay close to him.

 _Without this, what am I? What are_ we? She wondered, biting her lip. She felt the urge to curl her fingers into her fist, and took a deep breath instead.

“This can’t be the end,” says Betty strongly, looking at Ferret.

He shakes his head, his freckles standing out against his pale face. He’s tired, and has tired many solutions before calling her. “Betty, I wish there was another way.” He glances away.

She reads it as a dismissal, and, hurt blossoming in her chest, she turns and begins to trudge out the office and into the garage. Suddenly proofreading articles for the Blue and Gold doesn’t sound so urgent or exciting for her Thursday evening.

“Betty!”

She turns at the call of her name and see Ferret leaning out the door of his office, his eyes wide and bright. “Yeah?”

He swallows thickly, and says, “I was looking at the ledger. And honestly? The only way we could stay in business is if we had financial backing. Would your dad consider...?”

She ponders that for a moment. Ferret and her father get on well, both being car aficionados, and Hal Cooper has spent several thousand dollars on old cars to fix up over the years. But enough to invest in a business?

Betty slowly shakes her head. “I... I don’t think so, Ferret.”

His face falls.

“But...”

It pops up quickly. “What?”

An idea is brewing in her head, a terrible one. “I think I know someone who might be able to help us.”

* * *

Reggie takes one look at her, leaning against the lockers beside his, and slams his shut, and an accompanying, “No.”

Betty bats her eyelashes, thankful Jughead is no longer at Riverdale High to see her act this way, and pouts. “ _Please?”_

Reggie looks down at her impassively, his eyes flicking all over her face as she does her best Cher from _Clueless_ impression, and then he snorts. Loudly. Amusement flashes across his face and he leans back on the lockers, his arms crossed.

He looks down at her and with two imperious eyebrows raised, says, “You’ve got five minutes before Bulldog practice, Cooper. Impress me.”

She takes a deep breath. “Okay – so – I work part time on the weekend at a garage, fixing old classic cars and restoring them for resale later. Your dad owns the only car dealership in town, and that includes used cars. The problem that garage I work for has, is that it needs a certain float capital to purchase the cars for resale. And...” she grimaces, “Recently, the person in charge of that capital has been unable to do so. The people who have been organizing it in their stead mismanaged it.”

Reggie’s eyes narrow. “So what do you want from me?”

“Your help?” she squeaks, but it comes out as a question instead of a statement. She clears her throat. “

“Help, _how_?” challenges Reggie.

Betty fights a blush. She usually doesn’t speak much to Reggie – he’s friends with Moose, and Chuck, and sometimes Archie (despite the two of them having an odd rivalry), and she never had much reason to hang out or spend time with him.

He’s a B-average student, so she’s never had to tutor him. He’s a quarterback on the football team because he _likes_ it, not because it’s his dream to play in the NFL. He works part-time at his father’s dealership on weekends to make money and spends his summers at the Riverdale Country Club because his parents are pretentious enough to have a membership. While she’s sure her mother would prefer the same, Alice and Hal are still too _working class_ for Riverdale CC – and other than school, and obligatory childhood birthday, they never really interacted.

Even when growing up, they were not in the same social circles; Betty prefers her time with Archie, Jughead, Kevin, and Ethel, and later Veronica – while he’s always been around Archie, Moose, Chuck, Adam, and a few others.

Betty sighs. “I have a work problem that your family is uniquely qualified to help with.”

“So you’ve already said,” he replies. “Tick-tock, Alice.”

Frustrated, Betty blurts it out, “It would be great if you could front the money to purchase some cars for the garage so they can restore them and sell them on.”

Reggie is quiet for the moment or two, clearly thinking it over. He’s not dumb – in fact, he carefully maintains his grade and has quite the business mind when he wants – but he’s leaving her on tether hooks on purpose.

“How much are we talking about here?” he finally asks, but Betty knows he’s interested. He has that particular gleam in his eye that he has when he is trying to get Midge or Josie out on a date with him – it’s the thrill of something new.

“I’m not sure,” admits Betty, “But I can ask Ferret.”

“ _Ferret?_ ” he echoes, incredulously. “What kind of name is that?”

Betty’s expression sours. “What kind of a name is _Reginald_?”

Reggie blinks at her in surprise. “The name of a well-bred gentleman, Betty.”

She sighs. “Let me text him and find out. Maybe we can set up a meeting – the three of us to sit down and discuss?”

Reggie shakes his head. “Oh, no, you misunderstand me, Lizzie—” (“Betty,” she mumbles, but he continues blithely.) “—while I am interested, the money won’t be coming from me. My trust fund and allowance doesn’t really cover for a couple thousand or ten g’s on something. No, this has to come from my dad.”

His own expression is a mixed one – and Betty frowns. “Your dad?”

He sighs, running a hand through his floppy hair. “Yeah. Let me talk to him about it. I’ll contact you this weekend and we’ll go from there.”

It’s not soon enough for Betty, but she understands. She nods, and the warning bell rings for their next class.

“Later, Mini-Coop,” he says, and then saunters off to his class, while she turns and heads for calculus. Ferret’s plight and the fate of the garage hangs in Reggie Mantle’s hands – something Betty never thought she would ever think.

The weekend can’t come soon enough.

* * *

Ferret’s leg is bouncing nervously against hers under the table at Pop’s. It is annoying her, because it’s shaking the table. He’s looking out at the restaurant with wide eyes, tapping his fingers against the back of the booth on the side that he and Betty are sitting in, while his other hand taps out an unsteady rhythm on the tabletop.

Finally, she presses her hand on top of his and hisses, “You _need_ to stop.”

Ferret stills. “Sorry,” he mumbles, bringing the hand up to his mouth instead and chews on a hangnail. “I don’t really come here that often and I’ve never met Marcus Mantle before.”

“Neither have I,” admits Betty, “But Reggie – despite being an arrogant jerk at times – is actually pretty nice and helpful when you need him.”

Ferret sighs.

They wait a few more minutes, Betty playing more with her vanilla milkshake than drinking it, before Reggie and his father enter Pop’s. It’s a bright Saturday morning, but something about Marcus Mantle makes Betty’s eyes narrow. He’s slightly hunched over, and his face is grey. Reggie is leading the way to them, in his varsity jacket and shoulders thrown back.

“Hey,” he greets, sliding into the booth across from Betty, leaving the aisle seat for his father. He nods at Ferret. “You must be Ferret.”

There is a hint of distaste and derision at the name, and Ferret makes no move to show that bothers him. As Marcus slides in next to his son, Ferret instead says, “It’s a nickname. You can call me Rhett, if you like.”

Betty’s eyes slid to him in a stare. _Rhett?_ She wonders, and catches the corner of his eyes. His head turns slightly and he winks.

“Betty Cooper!” announces Marcus, bringing their attention to him instead. He is leaning forward across the table a little. Reggie winces at his side, slightly. “Why, you are a splitting image of your mother when she was younger. Real looker then, too.”

“Er, thank you, Mr. Mantle,” says Betty, slightly uncomfortable.

Ferret’s face falls into a stoic mask.

Marcus chuckles. “Of course, of course. Reg – order me a coffee. Make it a large, kid.” He turns back to Ferret and Betty. “Now – Reg over here says you have a business proposal for me – Rhett, is it?” He gives a laugh again and no one else at the table joins him. “Normally I wouldn’t entertain a meeting with someone who has Southside Serpent association, but Reg told me it came from Betty, here, and well – I’m a sucker for a blonde.”

Betty stills in her seat against the red vinyl and shifts a bit under the appreciative stare Marcus sends her. Ferret’s arm, behind her on the back of the booth, drops across Betty’s shoulders in the way that Jughead’s does so often when he’s uncomfortable with those who approach them during their Tuesday night dates.

“Betty’s a real gem,” says Ferret, letting his hand drop to her shoulder and hugging her to his side.

“I’ll say,” agrees Marcus.

Reggie squirms a bit, watching his father carefully while Pop brings a large mug of coffee around for him, including a bowl of cream and milk containers and sugar.

Marcus begins ripping up sugar and pouring several tiny cartons of milk into his coffee noisily. “So, what’s this about?”

Ferret carefully outlines the garage, his previous sales, and numbers, and even presents Marcus with a portfolio he made up for that meeting. Betty knows the numbers are above-board, as she helped him with it the previous night and had access to Ferret’s ledger.

Marcus’s eyes are glazed over during this part of their meeting, though. His slurps his coffee, shifts in the booth, and his eyes trail towards the short skirts one of the morning waitress’s wears. Reggie, on the other hand, is entirely focused on Ferret’s story.

It isn’t until Ferret turns the page and starts showing the cars that Marcus brings his attention back to their meeting.

“Look at that beaut!” he gushes, sighing over the cars in high quality glossy: Ferret’s 1968 Shelby; the 1964 Pontiac GTO Tri-Power in red, a purple 1971 Plymouth Hemi Cuda that Betty helped to finish on her first weekend at the garage. Even her father’s 1967 GTO is in the book, as Hal decided to ask them to give her a tune up and some changes.

Reggie makes an agreeing noise, his eyes skipping over the images and details Betty wrote in precise handwriting next to each image about the engine, the parts, the body.

“Those girls are real nice,” jokes Marcus, “Now that’s definitely some power under your hands to make them purr!”

 _Gross,_ thinks Betty, and her face must make a tiny twitch, because Reggie catches her and he mouths, “Sorry.”

She feels a flash of surprise; her classmate looks entirely uncomfortable but also... resigned. Like his father does this often.

 _In fact_ , she thinks, narrowing her eyes on him while Marcus starts asking questions, and then Reggie, at Ferret, _he looks a bit like Jughead did when he didn’t want anyone to know about his father’s alcoholism_.

It softens Betty’s heart to her classmate, and she turns back to the conversation. Marcus is hedging about committing his money to a known Serpent and his garage, despite it not being a Serpent organization. Ferret grows more frustrated and annoyed as the conversation continues, his answers coming shorter and crisper.

Reggie swings the vote. “You have an old clunker in the garage, dad. Why not have them restore it – I’ll pay for the parts – and if you like their work, you finance them?”

Marcus, bleary eyed and hung-over (Betty can see it now), purses his mouth in distaste at having his son finagle an end to his power play so quickly. He crosses his arms and leans back in the booth, his coffee almost gone.

“I suppose,” he scowls. Then, he sighs. “It’s a Jaguar XKE – ever worked with one of those before?”

Ferret’s face is a picture – like someone hit him in the face with a wet fish. He stutters, “We really only work on American cars – we’ve never had anyone come in before with a Brit.”

“Well, can you?” demands Marcus.

Ferret sits up straight. “Yeah. We can do anything.”

Marcus stares at him for a minute, and then nods. He yanks out a five-dollar bill and tosses it negligently on the table for his coffee. “Reg’ll drop it off tonight then. You’ll have a week.” He turns to his son and says, “Let’s go.”

The man is already half-way down the restaurant when Reggie makes to stand.

“Reggie,” says Betty, catching his attention before he goes while Ferret sits in stunned disbelief, “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he said, with a sigh. “Any time, Betty.”

And then the Mantles are gone, leaving Ferret and Betty in the booth.

“What just happened?” Ferret asks her, his eyes wide.

Betty gives him a small smile. “You get to work on a Jag this weekend. And speaking of, we should get the garage prepped. And call Muskrat and Jackal, don’t you think? We’re going to be busy.”

Her words galvanize Ferret, and he jumps out of the booth, his cell phone already out and him speed dialing his employees.

Betty looks forlornly down at her own cell phone. _Can we meet at Pop’s tonight?_ Jughead had sent her. _My treat!_

Duty calls for Betty Cooper, and Jughead will have to wait.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - although I don't think his first name is Marcus - the character of Mr. Mantle, plus the description about Reggie - is canon per the comic tie-in. The recent August issue is about Reggie and Josie, and implies that Regige's father is a lech and alcoholic, as Reggie calls him out for disrespecting Josie **and** Mrs. Mantle when he hits on poor Josie at a function.
> 
> I'll be updating where I can, but RL, you know? Remember to leave a comment on your thoughts, or drop by on [tumblr](http://writing-as-tracey.tumblr.com)!


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